The Gods We Cannot Know
by Snowy the Sane Fangirl
Summary: The four gods of Mossflower each chose a dominion for their own. Hundreds of seasons after their universe was created, legends still abide.


Homestuck belongs to Andrew Hussie. Redwall belongs to the late Brian Jacques. I am neither of these people, being, as a point of fact, a girl.

Largely inspired by _The Gods That We Once Knew_ by natcat5, which can be found on Archive of Our Own. I started thinking, what if the Beta Kids became gods of a particular universe? And then I chose the Redwall 'verse because Dave's red and Redwall is also red. It's relatively important to note that this is non-canon for Homestuck. For one thing it only features the Beta Kids, pretty much disregarding the Trolls, Alphas, and Cherubs. I may do more with other continua and Game sessions. Calliope and Caliborn's session, naturally, led to the Doctor Who 'verse...

Also, I finally learned how to employ single line breaks. By which I mean I finally read the instruction in the lower right corner that has been there all along. XP

With many thanks to my beta, Ailavyn Siniyash!

* * *

The great Tapestry of Redwall is dominated by Martin the Warrior, garbed in silver armor, a scarlet cape thrown over his shoulder. The edging, brilliant red to match the cape and the pommel of the sword he holds, contains many designs of creatures and plants. It is a beautiful piece of Redwall's history, telling tales of many generations and their adventures and accomplishments.

But there are some parts of the tapestry that nobeast understands. At each corner there is a symbol in a dark maroon. The upper right corner contains two wavy lines, and the trees woven nearby shy away from it. At the top left is a small sun. The bottom right displays a swirl of small lines. There is no symbol in the lower left corner. The edging seems uneven there, too, and inconsistent. Some beasts claim that the edging is fine, and the extra bumps and colors form the shapes of a figure, peering around the red edge as though it is a wall. He is like no beast anyone has ever seen, tall and pale with no visible ears and eyes obscured by dark spectacles.

He is called the Knight of Time in some old writings. A god, they call him. He was able to bend time to his will, to sail through it as a ship on the sea, to alter it as he saw fit. It was a formidable weapon in his paws. But when he came to Mossflower he saw one more way he could exploit time for his own ends, this time an act of defense rather than aggression. He used his powers to endow things with the ability to endure. One tome suggests that Redwall will never fall because of his blessing. And it is more than the stones themselves; he also granted ideas and beasts the ability to endure, so that the Abbey would always be defended.

Some ask why a warrior chose to guard a place of peace. It is the same question asked of Martin. Nobeast knows for certain.

* * *

_Struggling through Time, wayward Knight,  
__Keeping the future of all.  
__His own blood on his hands as he loses his life,  
__How many times did he fall?_

_Fighting through Time, lonely Knight,  
__How many bodies were his?  
__Did he often die making things right  
__So the undoomed could still live?_

* * *

In Salamandastron, in a secret room behind the Lord's forge, the walls are covered in carvings. Prophecies, histories, names, and deeds are recorded there. Messages for future rulers, advice from past Lords. Not all of them have been fulfilled yet. Some have been, yet nobeast knows; they had not seen the carvings, or they did not understand the significance. Some have been forgotten. If a beast traces these messages back into the depths of the cave to the very beginning, near the infamous throne of Lord Brocktree, they will find a set of carvings that they will never fully understand.

Two figures stand side by side. It is often theorized that they represent the same beast, for they are much the same. Both are clad in black, but one has a pale, pale face while the other seems to be grey. A long mop of black fur falls from both their heads, and the first one's ears are white as the moon while the second one's are grey as her face. Their eyes are bright, piercing green.

Below the image runs a single line of runes: they are difficult to decipher and it is doubtful whether they were translated correctly. Witch of Space, it says. Legends are vague and disjointed. There are no stories, only ideas. She was a gentle beast, they say, but when the need arose she would arm herself and was a most formidable warrior indeed. But she was both intelligent and powerful in other ways. It has been claimed that she was the creator, the one who nourished the world and brought it into being. That she is a god.

Somebeast once said they heard she had the power to alter space; to change the size of things or the way they were shaped, or to move them entirely. Perhaps, they added, that was the explanation behind the volcano Salamandastron had once been being dead, and the network of tunnels within it. It is a simple legend, and one that few believe. Much like the legend that says on one occasion she came together with the Knight of Time to secure the future of those they ruled over. She provided the means, and he the perseverance, and a great weapon was forged; a blade from the stars, a sword that would never break.

Perhaps it was her driving need to protect the innocent that led to her making her eternal spiritual home where she did, guarding those who could not defend themselves.

* * *

_Ruling o'er Space, beloved Witch,  
__What do you see in your rule?  
__Those you would aid, the poor and the rich?  
__The many ways life can be cruel?_

_Wand'ring through Space, misguided Witch,  
__You've fallen but this is not you.  
__Your body's been conquered, your soul has been missed,  
__You must fight to return to what's true._

* * *

The woodland dwellers tell stories around the campfire each night, of the brave deeds of their ancestors, tales they heard from travelers or made up, ones they had all heard many times before. They sing songs and recite poems until the fire is reduced to embers, a faint pool of light in the surrounding darkness. Some nights, if the dibbuns have been extra good, before they are sent to bed there is one more tale to be told.

She had no fur, they said, except on her head. She wore black for a time, accented with deep purple. They don't know her name, but they do know she was the Seer of Light. She was a god. But at one time, she fell into darkness. This is the part where the young ones huddle together, or find their parents.

Legends say the death of her mother caused it. She was so overcome with grief and anger that she gave way to evil impulses for a while. A kiss brought her back, one old shrew says. A friend saw her faults and kissed her, and she woke again whole and unsullied. There is a lesson to be found in the story. If somebeast falls into wickedness, there is yet redemption for them.

When she returns she is garbed in gold. She could see the future, they say, and know what actions were best for everybeast. And one final legend says that she looked into the future and saw the beasts dwelling in the woods; the hermits and families, the wanderers and the tribes, the lost, rivershrews, squirrels, and moles. She saw the creatures and she put her blessing on the woods and the creatures that dwelt there. She gave some the gift of her sight, they say, and these beasts are charged with guiding the others and keeping them safe, though it is often abused.

She is the goddess of the woodlanders, both those on the right path and those who have strayed.

* * *

_Watching the Light, vaunted Seer,  
__Can you see what the future holds?  
__Can you see through the dark that surrounds you with fear?  
__Do you watch as the future unfolds?_

_Returned to the Light, lied-to Seer,  
__Now you see what is best for us all.  
__You live in the future, remaining here,  
__Only after you rose from your fall._

* * *

From a distance the ocean looks flat, smooth, and soft, but when a beast sails upon it he discovers that it is choppy, rough, and sometimes very harsh. So too is the one they tell of in their sea shanties and ballads, he who was one with the wind. The oldest songs called him the Heir of Breath. He was the one who had command over the breeze and the very air. The fortune of sailors on the sea depended upon his favor. When he was angry, storms gathered and raged, but when he was calm, so was the sea. He was a god.

He is described in the songs as youthful, though strange in appearance, with a near-constant smile and an overwhelming affinity for laughter. They say his fur was black as midnight, though sparing, and that he wore spectacles as though he were a scholar. He wore blue, so as to blend with the sky and the sea, his domain. With his wind he aided travelers he favored and hindered those who did not measure up to his standards. There is a saying that when a ship is lost in a storm only to find it is miles off-course, often in the opposite direction it set out in, the Heir has been at work. Nobeast knows why this is for certain.

But as often as he hinders, he helps. One song tells a tale of a ship that was lost in the middle of the ocean, far off-course and with clouds by night and fog by day obscuring their course. In the darkness of their despair, a sharp gust of wind came hurtling across the water with such force that the ship was rocked tremendously. They were fortunate that the sails were furled, or they likely would have lost their mast. The wind swirled unnaturally, blowing the clouds that blocked the stars aside, then it gathered itself around the stern of the vessel, a mighty galleon, and wonder of wonders, the ship moved, slowly at first but gaining speed until it was racing across the waves with perhaps half the speed it might have achieved with the use of its canvas. After only a few minutes, the wind dissipated as quickly as it had come. It had been left in such a place that the crew knew their bearings by the stars once more.

Sometimes a creature would report that they saw him, a distant blue figure sailing high in the sky with the wind, vanishing and then reappearing elsewhere. Of course these were fools' tales, and no more true than any of the gods' stories.

But many still told their dibbuns and young ones that he is the leader of the gods, the one who stood at the forefront of them as they protected the innocent from those who would do them wrong, and set forth the means for those who came after to follow in their footsteps.

* * *

_Soaring o'er Breath, righteous Heir,  
__One with the wind and the sky.  
__Quick to do mischief, quicker to care,  
__Rising each morn with a smile._

_Catching your Breath, harried Heir,  
__Standing tall 'twixt right and wrong.  
__Hold your hand out in warning, face grim yet fair.  
__From the long night guard the dawn._

_Ruling your Aspect, grieving Child,  
__As the one who once raised you is gone,  
__That creatures may live and be reconciled,  
__Protect them Dave, Jade, Rose, and John._


End file.
